


velvet room

by sorry4yourloss



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:34:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26554417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorry4yourloss/pseuds/sorry4yourloss
Summary: What does Akira normally say? What does he tell Goro Akechi in his dreams, when he drifts off in class, when the train rides get long and Morgana isn’t chatty enough to distract him from his telltale heart? He’s played it over and over in his head, begged the universe for a do-over, one more chance, one last conversation, and now that Akechi sits right in front of him, he has no idea what to do.
Relationships: Akechi Goro & Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro & Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro & Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 63





	velvet room

**Author's Note:**

> im gna be honest..... this is rambling. rambling straight from my brain. idk why im posting it!! i started it while i played the part in the game where u go around the velvet room and walk around and like give each character a pep talk and then they go with you bc i was like man, if akechi were here. 
> 
> if this is ur first time reading my actual writing and not my textfic writing, im sorry...... im better than this i promise

He meant to save Ann for last.

Hand outstretched, Akira pulls her out of the cell and into a tight hug, feeling a rush of unexplainable emotion as she buries her face into his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he tells her gently, and unsurprisingly, she replies with a firm nod, a determined smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her absentmindedly trace the brick wall with her finger as the two begin to make their way back to their teammates.

His whole life has been leading up to this. He knows his destiny is catching up to him, intensifying like a crescendo towards this very day, this very moment. He feels the rush in his blood that usually comes before an intense fight, the one that tells him to charge in with no hesitation. He knows that the second he enters this room, there’s no going back—the world would be the responsibility of the Phantom Thieves, the universe theirs to save or abandon.

And yet, right before Akira steps in, he feels a hard tug at his heart, tight enough to stop him in his tracks.

“I’m not finished,” he blurts, and at that point they’re close enough to the others for them to all turn to him, Makoto’s eyebrows rising at the sudden change in volume. He can only offer the Thieves an apologetic look and a shrug, raising a finger as if to say,  _ One moment. _

They were used to this by now, surely. He was always running off, running away, coming back with new discoveries, pushing forth his new ideas.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for this time.

Akira turns back around, staring back into the maze of dark hallways. A slight breeze falls on the back of his neck, and he shivers. 

As usual, he gives way to his instincts and lets his feet take the lead, trailing past jail cells with auras of blue. There’s an uneasy weight on his chest, one he’s sure has been building for months now, one that he’s tried to pinpoint as guilt, or grief, or anger, but has always fallen short of understanding.

Again, he stops walking. Behind him, the wind whistles. If he focuses, he can hear his teammates chatting, the small talk that usually bubbles out only when Akira’s gone and they aren’t sure what they’re waiting for. He’s in front of another jail cell, in a hallway he’d managed to miss the first time around.

In front of him, staring up at him from the concrete floor, is Goro Akechi.

His friends are going to hate this.

“You’re here,” Akechi says softly, voice slightly hoarse, and all Akira can do in reply is take a step back.

Akira’s had endless conversations with Akechi after their last moment in Shido’s palace. Even in death, Akechi is relentless, a series regular in his head, in his nightmares, in his thoughts. Akira’s convinced that, as one final melodramatic act, Akechi managed to use his persona to make permanent his cognitive presence in Akira’s brain, because he’s been stuck there for months like a commercial jingle that plays repeatedly on the radio.

Despite it all, however, he finds himself somehow speechless, struck dumb by Akechi’s presence—if, of course, it  _ is _ his presence. 

Akira can never tell nowadays.

He spares Akechi a glance. The boy’s sitting on the floor, leaning casually on the wall, seemingly waiting for him like the rest of his teammates had been earlier. He’s in his detective getup, a stark contrast from the cracked black mask he was wearing when they’d parted ways. In the back of his head, a voice tells Akira to leave, walk away now, for the Akechi he’s seeing is only a manifestation of his dreams, an object of his cognition. But another voice argues back, tells him to watch and listen, tells him that even if this Akechi is only a figment of his imagination that he has to be seeing him for a reason.

What does he normally say? What does he tell Goro Akechi in his dreams, when he drifts off in class, when the train rides get long and Morgana isn’t chatty enough to distract him from his telltale heart? He’s played it over and over in his head, begged the universe for a do-over, one more chance, one last conversation, and now that Akechi sits right in front of him, he has no idea what to do. 

Akechi looks up at him, drumming his fingers on his knee, saying no more. 

They lock eyes, hold each other’s gaze. 

Akira remembers, suddenly. 

The first thing he always does is apologize.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, and he receives no response. Akechi doesn’t move from his spot on the ground, and he feels the urge to repeat himself, wondering if he had even spoken out loud at all.

Akechi blinks, and then he breaks out into a small smile.

“What for?”

The smile on his face is unlike any Akira’s seen before. He knows only two of Akechi’s smiles: the toothy grin reserved for the cameras, for when he was pretending to be pure in heart, Japan’s ‘detective prince’, and the maniacal laugh that broke through when he experienced the joy of winning. This third, brand new expression is neither the former nor the latter, neither genuine or fake, completely indecipherable.

He decides not to dwell on it.

“For leaving you, of course,” he continues, frowning. After a beat of silence, he goes on. He’s unused to being able to say this much to Akechi uninterrupted. “And I suppose I should thank you for saving us.”

Akechi shifts, eyes still trained on Akira. “I didn’t do it for you guys.”

“I know.” He averts his eyes, drawing his gaze towards the floor. “But the intention doesn’t change the consequence, and if it weren’t for you, we’d be dead in that Palace.” 

_ Dead. _

“Like I should be?” Akechi asks, and inadvertently, Akira winces. Akechi has always done that, even before, fishing the heaviest thoughts out of Akira’s head and announcing them like they’re nothing. He catches Akechi covering his mouth, eyes creased in laughter. “It’s alright. I know how it must sound. I suppose I should tell you you’re welcome, then.”

Akira feels his frown deepen. He runs a hand through his hair. He figures he shouldn’t be surprised at his own loss for words—no one’s ever disarmed him as well as Akechi. He isn’t the type to be easily shaken; he takes everything in stride, knowing that the universe is always running its course. But every interaction they have, everything Akechi’s ever done, leaves Akira wondering if the universe is backing away, leaving the wheel in the hands of someone else, someone less experienced and more impulsive.

Akechi rolls his eyes.

“No need to think so hard,” he says dryly, and Akira snorts. 

“Sorry, I’ll do my best to stop thinking from now on.”

Still, the two once again fall into a minute of awkward silence. Akira’s thoughts stray to their past conversations at Leblanc, in the Metaverse, the train stations, the streets—they’ve never gone like this. Conversations with Goro Akechi are not unlike a fight with a shadow. They’re a steady back-and-forth of sharp words, jabs with underlying meanings. 

They both hate silence.

Akira gives him a challenging look.  _ Your turn _ .

Akechi smirks, shakes his head. “So you’ve defeated Shido, I’m assuming?”

At that, he nods. This is an easier subject, one he can at least begin to explain. He can use this to turn the conversation into their usual dispute. “Out like a light, but the people still want him. There’s this whole thing going on with Mementos, the public’s cognition, I’m honestly not too sure myself.” Akira wrinkles his nose. Maybe he should have figured his own situation out before trying to explain it to someone else. “And I just found out that the guy who gave me my persona-switching power was secretly evil. Or God. It’s all good and well.”

Akechi raises an eyebrow. 

He’s judging him, surely. 

“What can I say?” Akechi spreads his fingers, flexing his hand open and shut. It’s an old habit, and Akira’s reminded of all the times he watched him do so before whipping out a rapier, slashing through shadows with ease. “Society’s twisted. So’s whoever gave you your power, be it God or some random being. Move past it.”

“Says you,” Akira replies quickly, and the bewildered expression on the other boy’s face is enough to make him laugh louder and harder than he has in days. 

Upon hearing Akira’s laughter, Akechi’s smile grows. “Says  _ you _ ,” he counters. “We have the same power, surely you know that by now?”

“Two sides of the same coin,” Akira mutters, echoing what Morgana had said to him one night. He and the cat have too many conversations regarding Akechi. Morgana doesn’t seem to understand Akira’s feelings any more than he does.

At that, Akechi goes quiet. He stares off into the distance, deep in thought, unreadable as usual. For some reason, it hurts Akira to see him like this—behind bars, slumped on the ground. He’s not used to seeing Akechi any way other than the way he wants to be seen. Knowing his teammates, they’d be satisfied leaving Akechi like this; after hearing his spiel, they’re too kind to want him dead, but he’s done enough harm to them for them to leave him in a place like this without question.

It’s impossible for Akira to have ever truly been mad at him. The others say that it’s okay, that he can, he  _ should, _ but when he thinks of Akechi he can’t find anger anywhere in his heart. He doesn’t think he wants to.

Akira leans forward, reaching a hand towards the cell door and tugging it open.

He steps inside.

“Well.” Akechi shields his face with his hand, masking another snicker. The first time they’d met, Akechi had giggled at his own jokes. The last time they’d met, Akechi had thrown his head back and cackled, caught up in his own head. “Decided to join me?”

A shrug. “We are the same, after all,” Akira says, and his heart thumps, mind running with thoughts he wouldn’t dare to say aloud. 

He begins to recall things that he ought not to. A firm grip, a gloved hand, helping him up a ladder, light touches in darkened rooms. The soft air of his words, always whispered hastily in Akira’s ear. A warm smile, coffee in hand. 

A gun to Akira’s head, the same gun to Akechi’s. 

“Not similar enough, it seems,” Akechi says, lifting his head, leaving Akira feeling as if he was being looked down on even though Akechi was the one on the ground.

Akira feels the urge to run back to Igor, to traverse across universes and search for one where neither of them have been chosen, where neither of them stood out enough to have been hand-picked to throw the world into chaos. He wants to find a world where they both know what they want, know where they’re going, where they can live their lives without trouble. He knows it’s an impossible thing to hope for, but he so badly wishes that the two of them had met under completely normal circumstances—but maybe, under completely normal circumstances, their paths never would have crossed.

He offers Akechi his hand.

Maybe, in another life, he’d take it.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this was gonna end with akechi like disappearing into the air really dramatically because he was, in fact, a figment of akira's head. but alas i couldnt find a way to write it without it looking stupid
> 
> ty for reading <3 !!


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